Tied To The 90s
by xX-Misty
Summary: A collection of short drabbles related to the 90s Fenchurch East AU of my fics, featuring all the usual suspects; Alex, Gene, Keats and regular OCs Simon, Robin, Kim etc. Mostly non-canon; some serious and some ridiculous. Just a bit of fun! Rated T for potential language and themes. Beards will be marked with a content warning.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: I've had difficulty writing in the last couple of months and feeling low and uninspired. During this time I set myself a challenge to get some 200 word random drabbles written, just trying to keep things flowing, and with the help of Rant as official random number picker (and the poor soul who had to read the damn things) I wrote a bunch of them with pairs of random characters and a random situation. Although it was mostly a bit of fun there were a couple I was actually pleased with (and some that were totally ridiculous!) so I've decided to share a few.**_

_**These are pretty much all set in the universe of 90s Fenchurch East from my fics but the vast majority are NOT CANON! Although some could possibly fit into existing fics or are things I had in my head, and others may become part of the universe in the future. Where either of those are the case I'll state so. Really this whole thing is just an extra bit of fun connected to my fics and a way to collate the decent ones together but I'm still glad to hear any thoughts if any of them amuse/disturb/move/terrify you :D**_

**~xXx~**

**Drabble 1**

_**Random pairing here was Keats/Simon and the situation was Unrequited Love – I actually imagine this fitting in somewhere in the gap between Chasing Rainbows and Eyes of Blue and I HATE the amount of Keats/Simon feels this gave me!**_

**X**

He watched from afar as the tall man with the blue eyes checked the song list and wrote down his request before returning to the centre of the group of rowdy coppers. He did this most nights now. He wasn't there for the music or the atmosphere, that was for certain.

He downed his drink and squeezed his glass so hard it almost shattered, just like his heart.

It had happened again. Keats regarded the matter with fury. It had just been sex; a way to get what he wanted as well as to have something to hold over Simon, but after that night he found himself thinking about him more and more.

There had always been something there, just bubbling under. But in Keats's head it had become so great that it was destroying him inside. He thought about that one night again and how tender Simon had been when Keats had let his human side show. But then the monster had overtaken and ruined everything.

'_And besides,_' he thought to himself, _'it's not as though he'd want me. Not really.'_

This time the glass shattered in his hand as he whispered,

"_I'm not the right brother."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Drabble 2(ish)**

_**A/N: This was more or less a running joke, I'd been threatening to write Simon/Robin drunken pity sex for weeks to annoy Rant and ended up finally fulfilling the threat with the first chunk of this; the second was an actual drabble that came a few days later. Non-Canon…**_

**~xXx~**

Simon laid Robin down heavily on the couch. His eyes were closed but he was still awake. Simon had never seen him totally paralytic before. It scared Simon to see him that low. He swept Robin's dark hair away from his face with the palm of his hand and thought just for a moment he saw a flicker of a smile cross his face. It made him repeat the motion, the feel of his hair against Simon's palm bringing them both nostalgia and a yearning for the times they shared together. Slowly Simon stood up but Robin's eyes opened.

"Don't stop," he said quietly.

"What?" Simon asked, frowning slightly.

"I liked it," Robin told him.

"You've had too much to drink," Simon warned him.

"So have you," Robin pointed out.

Simon hesitated for a moment, feeling his head spinning a little. Robin wasn't far off the mark.

"Not as much as you," he pointed out. He saw Robin turn his head away a little, in embarrassment and disappointment. Simon felt a very strange sensation inside of him. Butterflies that rose from his stomach to his chest, making it hard to breathe. _'Fuck'_, he thought to himself, _'I thought I'd gotten over this. I thought I'd gotten over him.' _But as he found his hand reaching back to travel through Robin's dark locks again he knew he was only lying to himself.

**X**

The worst part for Simon was knowing that one of them was going to regret it in the morning and it wasn't going to be him. He'd known full well it was the alcohol talking. He'd known full well that Robin was desperate and depressed, and Simon's efforts at talking him out of it were minimal.

Staring at Robin's naked, defined torso in the darkened room he could just make out a hint of ink across his shoulder blade. He didn't know Robin any more. Not really. It was almost like making love to a stranger.

_Making love._ That was a lie for a start. There was no love there, only pity. Pity on both sides. Robin was still cut up with guilt and felt sorry for solitary loner Simon while Simon had watched Robin work himself into a terrible state over Kim's perceived rejection.

One minute they'd been ripping at each other's clothes and grasping at each other's bodies. The next, Robin was crying himself to sleep.

Now Simon was the one feeling guilty. And, as he crawled from the bed to curl up on the couch, he'd never felt more alone either.


End file.
